


promise

by zeraparker



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Asphyxiation, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Choking, Dark, Dom/sub, Humiliation, M/M, Rough Sex, vague suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22787413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/pseuds/zeraparker
Summary: There’s a hole there, punched through the leather at a seemingly random point. A promise hiding in plain sight for everyone who cares to look. And he wants someone to look.
Relationships: André Lotterer/Jean-Eric Vergne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	promise

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, big warning signs ahead that this isn't really a feel good fic, this was vastly inspired by Jev's complete meltdown via the radio at the end of the Mexico Eprix, and I just felt like the boys needed to let off some steam.
> 
> Also, as always, breathplay is one of those kinks that you definitely should not practice alone and that needs precautions; SSC and RACK are important parts of kink play to ensure you play for a long and fun times, so do not try this at home (or at least not alone please). Jev is in a bit of a bad headspace, so if you're looking for some sweet cuddles after the race for Jev and André, this isn't the one to read. (And if you feel like I'm missing a tag/warning, please let me know).
> 
> For everyone who's still reading now, enjoy.

Jev’s fingers stray to his belt as he grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he listens to the journalist’s question about the race. Ten minutes. Carl promised him he only needs to face them for ten minutes before he can escape and brood in piece. He doesn’t want to explain himself. He doesn’t want to argue with his engineers. He doesn’t want to watch Tonio grin and joke and smell of the champagne Jev feels he himself deserves. He wants that drink, preferably something stronger than champagne though. He wants to smash something, feel it crumble between his fingers. Fuck. At least he had hoped to catch André in the media pit, but he’s gone through it already. He pushes his fingers into the back pocket of his jeans, the pad of his thumb rubbing against the worn leather of his belt.

There’s a hole there, punched through the leather at a seemingly random point. A promise hiding in plain sight for everyone who cares to look. And he wants someone to look.

Not Carl. He’s being all too reasonable, too reasonable for Jev not to feel the hair at the back of his neck stand on edge, feeling like a child pummeling his fists against him without getting anywhere. He doesn’t want reasonable now, even though he knows he’ll crave it later, someone to tell him it will all be okay, it will all work itself out and that he’ll find his footing again. Right now he wants someone who’ll go along with the blood red rage he can still feel strumming beneath his skin.

The bitten nail of his thumb catches against the hole in his belt as he starts moving, having reached the end of the line of journalists and excuses himself with a duck of his head, fingering his phone out of his pocket. André’s name is at the top of his chats. Sending him a message only takes a minute. Jev looks at the clock on his phone screen before he stuffs it back into his pocket, knowing there isn’t that much time before he has to meet with his family for dinner. He doesn’t want to meet them like this though, when he is still scratched raw and with too much adrenaline prickling at his nerves.

Luckily, Amdré seems to feel the same. 

_ I’ll meet you at the hotel. Get yourself ready _ , he texts back even before Jev has made his way back to the team garage.

  
  


The mattress is squashy beneath his knees as he leans forwards, the air conditioning maybe a tad too cold against his naked skin, but it doesn’t matter. His entire consciousness is focused on something else, on the warm, soft leather wrapped around his throat. He swallows, and the snug embrace of the leather becomes rigid against the strain, for just a moment making it almost impossible to draw breath. The belt buckle feels hot against his neck, having warmed from the heat of his body where he has closed the belt against the back of his neck like a collar, the rest of the belt hanging down along his spine like a leash.

It’s a compromise. 

He’d prefer the belt not to be closed, would prefer to draw it tighter around his throat, properly restrict his breathing until he was left to gasp for air with nothing coming over his lips, but that’s a kind of destructive he hasn’t flirted with for a couple years now, a kind of destructive that still lures him with its darkness sometimes, a reckless seduction dangling an edge in front of him. He hasn’t dared play with it ever since Carl walked in on him with a silk scarf around his throat in his flat in Paris, his vision dimmed to black and white from lack of oxygen. He had still been in control back then, Jev is certain about that; he hadn’t actually been in danger like Carl had thought him to be, he couldn’t have been. Though just thinking about the look on Carl’s face makes his own stomach clench with a queasiness he doesn’t want to examine too closely on the best of days, much less now.

So the belt is a compromise. Carl had helped him measure out the right placement for the hole to make sure it sits snug enough to make him feel its restrictions to his breathing, but not so tight it will cut it off, not enough to cause him damage.

There are always ways though. Jev leans forwards onto one hand, reaching with the other behind himself to catch the end of the belt, pulling on it to drag the closed buckle away from his neck, making the leather press into the front of his throat in turn, cutting his breath off for a long, dragging second before he lets go, moaning quietly. Moving his hand along his flank and hip, he pushes two fingers back into his already slicked up arse, fucking himself languidly. He’s been at it for a while, playing with himself, waiting, anticipating, wanting, but it does take a while longer before he can hear the click of the door to the shared part of their suite, the dull thud of a bag against the floor. A moment later he can hear the familiar sharp indraw of breath.

“Don’t turn around.”

André’s words make him stop from turning his head to look over his shoulder at the door. He closes his eyes instead, hangs his head as he pulls his fingers out, feeling his hole clench around nothing in turn, aching under André’s scrutinizing gaze. He loves and hates being on display like this by equal measures, craves the heat it makes coil in his stomach like something alive. André’s feet against the hotel carpet sound loud in the room that’s quiet apart from his own harsh breathing. His palms against Jev’s arse are rough and slightly damp, thumbs digging in to draw his arse cheeks apart.

“Such a good slut for me,” André praises him but his voice sounds vicious, his tone carrying his own frustrations of the day, the same bloodlust Jev feels boiling beneath his skin as he listens to André unzip his jeans. He braces himself against the bed, his fingers digging into the sheets. 

“I don’t care if you come, but I won’t be stopping because of it,” André says, the only warning he gets before André grips him tight with one hand, the hard tip of his dick pressing against his hole before he thrusts inside with one long, hard push of his hips as the same time as Jev is jerked back by the neck, André having wrapped his hand around the end of the belt and tugged hard. 

The rhythm André sets is hard and unforgiving, and it’s enough to take Jev from turned on to the edge within seconds, his body primed by his own touch preparing himself, his mind there anyway as he struggles to breathe against the leather around his throat, against the way each of André’s thrusts propels him forwards into the vice like grip of the belt. He leans into it, feeling the restriction against his larynx, his vision blurring slightly even as his other senses seem to sharpen, the hard hammering of his heart in his ears, the animal smell of fucking. His throat is dry, his tongue too thick in his mouth when André relaxes his hold just far enough for Jev to draw a breath, his body following the give of the belt to draw it taut again even before André can renew his strong hold. Jev can feel the tension of the day snag around him, the struggles of the car he had felt like a physical pain in his own body, the way the strategy didn’t come together for him, outdone by the new guy in the team. Nothing of that can touch him now, here, as he shifts his weight onto one arm, depending on the belt around his neck to help keep his balance. He closes his hand around his dick, feeling the heat and wetness of his arousal, the tight squeeze enough to make him tumble over the edge as his vision turns hazy.

As promised, André doesn’t stop fucking him, though he does let go of the belt to better grasp Jev’s hips with both hands, holding him in place as his body wrecked by orgasm threatens to slide out from beneath him. It makes Jev slump forwards into the sheets as he gasps for breath, the constriction of the belt around his neck on the brink of throwing him into panic.

“God, look at you, how much you want it,” André says, his voice low and interrupted by his own groans. Jev whimpers, his nerves sparkling every time André’s dick brushes past his oversensitive prostate, causing waves and waves of aftershocks to shiver through him. His dick twitches, more come seeping from the tip and onto the sheets beneath him. He’s let go of it to twist his fingers into the sheets again, needing something to cling to even as the rest of his body relaxes, a doll for André’s pleasure, allowing his conscience to dim, to be used without the need to do anything of his own. He isn’t sure how long it takes for André to get there too, only feels him dig his fingers painfully into Jev’s hips to hold him steady as he thrusts all the way inside him harshly a couple more times, then holding himself there as his body shudders through his orgasm, hips flexing minutely. He lets go of Jev only after he’s pulled out. Jev shivers, feeling a trail of wetness leak from his arse. He slumps on the bed, landing in the puddle of his own spunk beneath him. With a groan he rolls onto his side, pulling his legs up towards his chest.

“Ah ah ah,” André chastises him. His hand wraps around Jev’s ankle, drawing his legs out along the length of the mattress, then pushes at him to roll onto his back. It makes the end of the belt catch beneath his back. Jev swallows heavily, but André is already climbing up over him. His jeans are still undone, but he’s tucked his dick away, his face flushed with orgasm, but his eyes are narrowed, pupils so wide Jev can barely make out any of the blue of his eyes. André’s hands go to his neck, fingers following the leather of the belt like a caress before he starts tugging on it, drawing the length of the belt from beneath Jev’s prone body, twisting it until the buckle is at the front, chaving his skin in the process, then draws it tight, cutting off Jev’s breath mid-inhale in a blinding bolt of panic that makes Jev freeze up and his mind go entirely blank, before the pressure falls away as the belt buckle comes undone, the metal clattering as André draws the length of the belt through it. It chaves his skin as he pulls it from beneath Jev’s neck.

“Please,” Jev pants as his body reclaims the oxygen it had been denied. He feels light headed, like his mind is about to float away, the room unsteady around him, only still connected to the bed where André’s weight on his thighs is pressing him down into the mattress.

“Look at you, covered in come, and yet you’re already hard again. You’re such a fucked up slut, Jev,” André says as he leans over him. He’s holding the belt between his hands, drawing it tight as Jev watches before he braces himself against the bed, hands on either side of Jev’s neck against the mattress, the belt strung taut between them pressing down like a weight against his throat, anchoring his body to the bed. Jev tries to swallow but feels that he can’t, spit gathering at the back of his throat.

“Come on, show me how fucked up you are. Let me see your face when you make yourself come again,” André prompts, relieving the pressure on the belt for a moment to allow Jev to draw a shaky breath, almost choking on his own saliva as he tries to swallow and inhale at the same time, before André draws the belt taut. “Put your hand on your cock.”

It’s an order now, more than the suggestive tone it had been before, and Jev finds himself obeying without a thought, his shaking hand wrapping around his dick that’s so hard again it’s straining up from his body, the hair around his groin and spreading up towards his navel matted with his own spunk. He squeezes his eyes shut, trembling from adrenaline and pleasure, before opening them again, needing to see the rapture on André’s face mirroring the turmoil inside of him.

Movement catches his eyes at the edge of his blurred vision. He can’t lift his head from the mattress, not with André holding him down effectively, but his eyes can just so make out the outlines in the doorway.

“Fuck.” James’ voice carries a note of panic in it.

“Don’t. Let them.” There’s a quick movement by the door and Jev can see Carl’s hand wrapping around James’ arm to hold him back, André twisting his head to glare at them over his shoulder with a snarl, before he has to close his eyes as André’s movement allows the belt to relax, his own body dragging in long gulps of air as everything seems to spiral out of control around him. His hand flies over his dick, quick, tight jerks and come spurting from the tip before he even realises he’s coming. It feels more like he’s being gutted than like an orgasm, leaving him entirely boneless, his mind full of static as he tries to cope with the sensations chasing beneath the outer layer of his skin.

The pressure on his throat is lifted, the belt clattering to the floor next to the bed jarring Jev into blinking one eye open, watching blarily as André climbs off his lap, and off the bed, not turning to even glance at him as he heads for the door. 

“He’s all yours,” André says, his voice still carrying that vicious lilt, the words in English jarring to Jev’s ears, knows they have been said so James would understand their meaning as well. André shoulders past them into the main room of their shared suite, the sound of the heavy door leading out into the hallway falling into the lock a moment later.

“Go after him?” Carl says, though his voice has lost its commanding tone, resignation dripping from every syllable as James nods, turning to follow where André went to.

Jev turns onto his side, away from Carl, and draws his legs up towards his body. He can hear him sigh behind him, tears prickling at his eyes as he shivers. André’s departure seems to have taken all the heat in the room with him. His body is still flooded with sensations, trying to catch up with what happened, the sheets feeling almost rough against the hairs on his legs as he shifts them, though there is a calm spreading through him too, in the wake of the storm of their encounter, the last of the adrenaline of the race starting to dissipate leaving behind a fatigue that’s numbing to his frayed nerves, having leeched him off the haunted feeling that had clawed itself inside them throughout the race. He reaches out, dragging one of the pillows down and wraps his arms around it, buries his face in it.

The sheets he’s lying on shift as they are lifted, draped to cover him. The mattress dips behind him. Carl climbs onto the bed, stretching out along Jev’s back, nudging his knees against the back of Jev’s, his chest pressing against Jev’s back as he slings one arm over him, a comfortable heavy weight. His body heat seeps through the layers of clothes and sheets, and Jev finds himself pushing back against him before he can catch himself, desperate for that warmth.

“Better?” Carl asks, running his fingers over Jev’s face, tugging the sweat damp strands behind his ear. Better than the shivers? Better than the frustrations after the race? Jev isn’t quite sure what question Carl is asking, but he hums in agreement, burying deeper into his embrace.


End file.
